‘My aunt passed the skirt down to me,’ Margaret said, buttoning her coat again. ‘It is nice, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, Mrs Watts always wears lovely colours,’ Daisy said. ‘Let’s hope she gives you some more of her clothes.’

Philip Tallis and Margaret laughed at the brutal honesty of this.

‘Have you quite finished, Daisy?’ he said.

‘Yes.’ She walked off. ‘Let’s get going, shall we?’

‘I thought you might like to see more of the town,’ he suggested. ‘Daisy and I sometimes try to go out nearer the countryside on our walks – but that’s nothing new for you, is it?’

‘I would enjoy anything,’ Margaret said lightly. With you, she wanted to add. ‘But yes – I’ve seen precious little of Birmingham during my time here.’ She thought of her arrival in this bewildering place, her hot faintness on the tram journey, the talk about hanging . . . It had all felt so overwhelming then. She realized, with surprise, how used she had become to being in the city, or at least this busy part of it.

Bells were ringing as they set off and little groups of people were moving towards the churches, spruced up in their Sunday best.

‘I suppose we’re keeping you from your Sunday, er . . . worship,’ Philip Tallis said, rather gruffly. Margaret realized that it had only just occurred to him.

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘But it won’t hurt for once, will it?’ She thought of Annie’s scandalized expression and suppressed a smile.

‘Well, I should hope the Almighty will treat you kindly,’ he agreed, and she could hear his gentle teasing.

Daisy seized her father’s hand, then Margaret felt the girl’s other palm pushed into hers.

‘There – we can walk like this!’ Daisy skipped along happily and it gave Margaret a warm feeling, them all being connected like that, friendly and comfortable.

There were a good many children out playing in the chilly day as they passed along Graham Street, hearing the bells from the church in St Paul’s Square. Further along, a group were gathered round a man in a top hat who was turning the handle of a barrel organ. It was only when they drew close that they could hear the flat tinkle of the music through the clanging bells.

‘Oh, look!’ Daisy skipped even more in delight, seeing the ornate little contraption, which was drawn along on wheels. ‘He’s got a monkey in a top hat!’

‘So he has,’ Philip Tallis said. Often the monkeys on the barrel organs wore a tiny red fez, but this one sat solemnly with the air of a very small, pale-faced businessman, in his miniature top hat.

‘Gracious,’ Margaret said. She had never seen such a thing before. ‘However do they train them to do that? Don’t they bite?’

‘I wouldn’t go too close,’ Philip Tallis said as Daisy rushed in to see.

‘Oh, Pa!’ She hurried back. ‘Can I give him something – a halfpenny?’